an agenda. He wouldn’t be surprised if she whipped out some kind of contract and made him sign it first.
The pulse fluttering lightly in her throat encouraged him. She wasn’t nearly as self-possessed as she pretended to be. “I’m feeling a little insecure,” he said.
“Why should you feel insecure? You’re getting what you want.”
He knew he was working with a short rope, yet he refused to let her call all the shots. “But what I want seems to have some big warning stickers plastered across it.”
“You’re just not used to women openly communicating their needs. I understand that might feel threatening.”
Who would have figured a great brain could be so sexy? “Regardless, my ego’s getting pretty deflated.”
“Metaphysically speaking, that’s a good thing.”
“Physically speaking, it isn’t. I want to believe I’m irresistible to you.”
“You’re irresistible.”
“Could you manage to sound a little more enthusiastic?”
“It’s a sore point.”
“My irresistibility?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. This was more like it.
The waiter arrived with an antipasto that included sausage, olives, and golden bites of deep-fried vegetables. Ren chose one and reached across the table to hold it to her lips. “Okay, just to summarize the agenda: no criticism and no oral sex. That’s what you said, right? Nothing too kinky.”
He’d hoped he could get another rise out of her, but she was made of stronger stuff. “That’s what I said.”
He slipped the morsel between her lips. “I guess I shouldn’t ask about whips or paddles.”
She didn’t even bother responding to that silliness. Instead, she took a delicate dab at the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
“Or handcuffs,” he said.
“Handcuffs?” The napkin stalled halfway to her lap.
Was this a spark of interest? She looked flustered, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let her see that he’d noticed. “Forget it. I was being disrespectful, and I apologize.”
“A-apology accepted.”
He heard that little stammer and fought down a chuckle. So, Ms. Control Freak might not be averse to a little light bondage. Even though he had a pretty good idea which one of them was going to end up in handcuffs, he decided it was a good start. He just hoped to hell she wouldn’t lose the key.
Ren took every excuse he could find to touch her during the meal. His legs brushed hers under the table. He stroked her knee. He played with her fingers and fed her tidbits from his plate. In a corny move he must have picked up from one of his films, he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. How calculated could a man get? And every bit of it was working.
He pushed aside his empty cup of cappuccino. The meal had been delicious, but she couldn’t remember a thing she’d eaten. “Are you finished?” he asked.
Oh, she was finished all right.
When she nodded, he led her from the dining room toward a crooked flight of stairs, but instead of descending, he steered her up.
“Where are we going?”
“I thought you might like a bird’s-eye view of the piazza.”
She’d seen enough views for today. She wanted to get back to the farmhouse. Or maybe he’d like to do it in the car. She’d never done it in a car, but tonight seemed like a good time for new experiences. “I think I’ll pass on the view. Maybe we should head for the car.”
“Not so fast. I know you’re going to want to see this.” With his hand on her elbow, he turned down a corridor and pulled a heavy European room key from his pocket.
“When did you get that?”
“You didn’t really think I was going to give you a chance to change your mind, did you?”
The room was tiny, with gilt moldings, a swirl of cherubs frescoed over the ceiling, and a double bed with a simple white counterpane. “The only one they had left, but I think it’ll do, don’t you?” He set down his backpack.
“Very nicely.” She kicked off her sandals, determined not to let him take over. After she’d dropped her shawl on a straight-backed chair, she set down her purse, pulled out a condom, and marched over to place it on the bedside table. Naturally, that made him laugh.
“Not too optimistic, are you?” He took off his glasses and tossed them aside.
“I have more.”
“Of course you do.” He turned to lock the door. “And so, by the way, do I.”
She reminded herself that tonight had nothing to do with love or permanency. It was about sex, the predictable outcome of being around Lorenzo Gage. And right now he was her personal plaything. Oh, he did look delicious.
She tried to make up her mind where to start. Should she undress him first? Unwrap him like a birthday present? Or did she want to kiss him?
He set the key on the dresser and frowned at her. “Are you making a list?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you have that list-making look on your face.”
“Makes you nervous, doesn’t it?” She slipped across the carpet, wound her arms around his shoulders, and drew his head down far enough so she could reach that great mouth. Then she took a small nip at his bottom lip-
She grinned, hugged him tighter, and gave him a big, sloppy open-mouth kiss to heal that little wound, all the time making certain it was her tongue that stayed in the driver’s seat.
He didn’t seem to mind.
She snaked one leg around his calves. He gripped her bottom and lifted her off the ground, which was perfect, because it made her taller than he was, and, oh, she did love a position of superiority. She put a little more of herself into the kiss and slipped one foot between his legs.
He definitely enjoyed that move, and he started walking her backward toward the bed, already trying to take over. “Strip first,” she said into his mouth.
“Strip?”
“Uh-huh… and make it slow.”
He set her on the edge of the bed and gazed down at her, all dangerous sex and raunchy intention. Those chiseled lips barely moved when he spoke. “You sure you’re woman enough to deal with it?”
“Fairly certain, yes.”
“I don’t want you to get ahead of yourself.”
“Give me your best shot.”
She could tell he was enjoying himself, even though he didn’t betray it by so much as a flicker of those dark, spiky eyelashes. She also knew there wouldn’t be any muscle flexing or cheesy calendar-boy posing. He was the real thing.
Slowly… languidly… he unbuttoned his shirt. Taking his time, freeing each button with the barest twist of his fingers. The shirt fell open. Her whisper was husky. “Excellent. I do love having my own private movie star.”
The shirt slithered to the floor. He dropped his hand to his belt buckle, but instead of opening it, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Inspire me first.”
She reached under her dress, pulled off her panties, and tossed them aside.
“Excellent,” he said. “I do love having my own sexy guru.”
By the time he’d cast his belt aside, lost his shoes and socks, and dragged his zipper down the first few inches, she was dry-mouthed. This was definitely a two-thumbs-up performance.
She waited for him to tug his zipper the rest of the way, but he shook his head. “A little more inspiration.”
She reached behind herself and dragged her zipper down a lot farther than he’d opened his. Her dress slid off one shoulder. She unclipped her earrings.
